Saturday, September 29, 2012

Knight In Shining Balenciaga

Do you have that one friend who is bitchy as hell and doesn't keep her bitchy comments inside her head but chooses to offend everyone around them instead?

Well I have two.

See, Star has this pet peeve about men carrying their girlfriend's handbags. "Why would I spend three thousand bucks on a Celine tote and make my boyfriend carry it around with him? I don't want people to think that I have an anal astronaut as a boyfriend!" Star would always rationalize. Just now during lunch, as she was busy scrolling through her Instagram, our peaceful (and this rarely happens) lunch was suddenly interrupted by a shrilly "Eeeuw!"

"Did someone post a picture of his penis Star?" Melanie asked casually.

"Worse! Look at this!" Star said, showing the picture on her phone to Melanie and myself. It was a picture by "Cla@ire" and it was a picture of this beefy man carrying about fifteen paper bags and a shocking pink Balenciaga bag. The caption read:

"My strong baby! <3 So sweet of him to carry everything. See, even my handbag! Sharing of "burden", he says. Awww. I love my boyfie!"

"Fucking hell. If he is so keen on sharing her burden, why don't he wear her sanitary pads too when she is having her menses?" Melanie retorted.

"Right?!" Star exclaimed, eyes widening. "I don't understand women who insists on their boyfriend carrying their hand bags for them. I mean if its shopping bags, fair enough, what is the use of having a man around if he cannot do the heavy duty. But this is a shocking pink Balenciaga. It is an accessory, an extension of what we women wear. And for fuck's sake, it's not even unisex looking. That is not romantic bitch. Disgusting. And look at that smug smile on his face, like he is some knight in shining armour!" Star recoiled with a pained expression on her face.

"A knight in shining armour, with a shocking pink Balenciaga shield", I added.

"I want to snatch the bag and use it to beat the crap out of his face", Melanie muttered under her breath.

"And you all know how Claire is such a fucking showoff. You should see her Facebook. Oh my boyfriend this, my boyfriend that. Oh my boyfriend picked me up at work today, how thoughtful. Oh my boyfriend took me out for dinner, how sweet of him. Bla, bla, bla. She sure does talk a lot for someone who doesn't have any tits!" Star huffed, exasperated.

"What has the size of her boobs got to do with her being annoying?" I asked.

"Oh I don't know Harry! She is just annoying, and back in school she used to stuff her bra with tissue paper. I don't even know why she needs a bra in the first place. She was and still is flat chested. Back then we used to call he Plankie."

"That is so...random Star", Melanie laughed. I asked Star why does she follow Claire on Instagram and Facebook then if she is so annoying.

"It's a girl thing Harry", Melanie replied.

"Oh and you would know Mel? You grew up playing basketball and wrestling with other boys", I teased. To which Melanie replied, "Don't make me force you to carry my ChloƩ Marcie in bright orange. You know in Malaysia what they say about men who carry ladies handbags right? And I don't use to wrestle. I just grope. And. Fuck you."

Across me Star was busy typing on her iPhone. "What are you typing?" I asked. She showed me her phone. Star commented on the picture:

"Does your boyfriend mind to carry my Celine tote too? I could do with a little help sometimes. He does look like he could work a gorgeous ladies bag. Lol!"


Friday, September 28, 2012

How Many Million Sir?

The Prime Minister issued a statement a couple of days ago, when, I don't particularly care, but he did say that our little island can fit in a total of 6 million people. We have about 5 million odd now I think, so what he is trying to say is basically, "Let's play a game guys. Let's see whether this island will sink if we add the total amount of residents to 6 million. If this island doesn't sink, hey, we'll go for 7 million!"

"First of all, how are we going to contain 6 million people? Are people going to finally live on the streets? But most importantly, how are we going to make the figure grow, and so fast?" Star asked during a phone conference with Melanie and myself two days ago.

"Bring in more foreigners, what else!" Melanie groaned. I told them this is akin to playing the party newspaper game. You know, have four people stand on a piece of newspaper, and then folding it in half, and smaller half, and smaller half, until the four of you are practically breathing in each other's breaths and can feel each other's awkward hard ons? Yeah, something like that. Except this time, you are smelling odours similar to carcass and you hear the chattering of different accents at a deafening level.

I personally have no problems with foreigners. I have a problem with national identity. And English competency. A country and its identity is carved by its people. And right now, we are losing it, and losing it fast. I am all for foreign talent, but there needs to be a certain restraint in the acceptance of these talents in this country. And our government, bless their "meritocratic" souls, have no idea what restraint is all about. In this country, there is no restraint. Everything is with fervent passion, and not in a good way. But I won't talk much about politics. My mum told me if you are not good at something, don't talk about it. And hell am I awful in politics. If I am a politician my manifesto would be: Eradicate public body odour, English, English, English.

Which brings me to the topic about foreigners and English. Like I said, I have no problem with foreigners, but I have a problem with foreigners who cannot speak English. And granted, if you are a hard labour construction worker, then fine, English is not mandatory. But to employ foreigners in a service line and not being able to speak English, that is just asking for a spit from Melanie. Which was what she did yesterday at 7-Eleven.

We were at 7-Eleven Star buying her usual fix of Green Tea and Lays Sour Cream and Onion, me a Snickers bar and Melanie, her favourite Menthol cigarettes. We were at the counter and Melanie asked the China worker manning the cashier, "Viceroy Menthol Extra Light."


"Huh? Menthol. Thol. MENTHOLLLL."

"Ya, Mentos. There." And she pointed at the rows of Mentos at the lower shelf beside me. Melanie said, "Harry get me five of those. I am going to throw it at her face." I of course said no, and looked at Star who shrugged and said, "She deserves it. Go Mel."

I quickly went over the cashier counter and moved forward and pointed to the cigarette pack in the glass display and said, "How much?"

"Oh, Menthowww. Not clear, she say Mentos."


All I could say was we were two seconds away from a fist fight. Six million people Prime Minister? Melanie wants to have a word with you.

Wednesday, September 26, 2012

At Your Cervix

My favourite comedienne is Joan Rivers and she has famously joked in many of her stand up routine about bravery and the trip to the gynecologist:

"I'll tell you what bravery is. You give a man a helmet and a gun, that is not bravery. You give a man a bazooka and a tank, that is not bravery. I shall tell you what bravery really is. Bravery is every single woman in this theatre who makes an appointment with their gynecologist, AND TO SHOW UP! That's bravery!"

"It's true though. Going to the gynecologist is one of the most mortifying things you can ever imagine a woman going through," Star said during one of our lunches last week.

"Why do you go to the gynecologist? To check if one of the men you slept with left his watch inside your vagina? Haha!" Melanie joked.

"You have no idea what a NATURAL vagina can store Mel," Star snapped, obviously taking a dig at Melanie's man made lady bits. Full of puns, that is Star for you. Melanie showed Star her middle finger. "I can take that in too. Make that five!" Star smiled, sarcastically.

"Girls, stop. We are in a restaurant. People are judging you. You're not in a whorehouse", I hushed them. Melanie smiled sheepishly and told me that it was the first time I called her "girl" and she flicked her hair and adjusted her dress and softly said, "Yes Star my love, you were saying something? Hmm?"

I rolled my eyes.

"Where was I? Yes. Every single time without fail, my gynecologist would always raise his voice in frustration at me going, 'Relax! Relax!'. I am lying on my back. My legs are up on the stirrups. My vagina is in his face, the door is opening in and out and you expect my vagina to relax?! My vagina is in shock!"

At this point of time a couple of middled aged women sitting on the table beside ours started staring at the three of us. I'm looking down and I'm praying fervently that the floor would open and take me in there and then. Oh, but that's not the worse thing that came out of her mouth. Star continued, "I mean, I barely know my gynecologist and he is asking my vagina to relax? Hell no. I mean, I sleep with random strangers like a dirty slut that I am but usually alcohol is involved. My gynecologist is not even cute. This scraggly old man, I wonder what his wife thinks of him and his profession, staring, talking and probing at pussies all day long", Star said, wiping her mouth with a napkin.

"Why didn't you request for a female gynecologist then? I wouldn't feel comfortable if my gynecologist is of the opposite sex. It feels...intrusive." Melanie griped.

"Opposite sex, Mel? Wow, you're absolutely confusing me now with the gender irony", I joked. She took my bread knife and pointed it towards me, silently mouthing, "Shut...up."

"No I feel like male gynecologists are more gentle to your privates", Star explained. "I think with female gynecologists, because they know how much we can take in, they become this vicious and vile pussy explorers. The female gynecologist before this literally fisted me at every single visit. I feel like one of those Japanese schoolgirl porn actresses squealing in pain, except this time, the pain is real!" Star sighed loudly.

One of the ladies sitting beside us gasped in shock and I don't know what came over me but I started laughing uncontrollably. Tears were rolling down my cheeks and Star kept ribbing me to stop. "Harry stop! You're embarrassing me!" Melanie just got up from the table and said, "I need to go to the ladies. I don't know how many times I have to handle this...thing with the both of you. How can a conversation about Joan Rivers end up be about fisting?"

Star texted me later that night asking whether Melanie really did go to the ladies after that or she just chucked herself quietly in the disabled toilet, a habit she inculcated during the transformative years from being Melvin to Melanie. I texted Star saying it's the least of her concerns. Choosing the gender of her gynecologist is. And one that doesn't fist.

Star texted back: "Ur a sick fuck. Nights."

Tuesday, September 25, 2012

An Open Letter

Dear Singaporean Smellies,

I can't do it. I can't do it anymore. I can't go inside an MRT cabin at any given time of the day and be assaulted by your offensive body odour. It is so offensive, inhalant abusers are looking at you and going, "Damn, you smell."

I don't get it. In what parallel universe do you come from where it is impossible for you to buy a cheap deodorant to wear every morning before going to work? Screw perfume, a bath maybe? Why would you be seen outside smelling of garbage? I am asking a lot of questions because I am baffled, baffled beyond comprehension. I took a short trip to Cold Storage across the road and in a state of utter helplessness, I started counting the different brands of deodorants that are available in the market.

47. There are 47 different brands of deodorants out there in the market. 40 fucking 7. There is an entire section for it called Personal Care. You won't miss it. It's usually right after the aisles selling cat food and kitchen wipes. You're telling me that for every single time you make a trip to Cold Storage, you just waltz by the Personal Care aisle and not get something for yourself to use every morning? 

And there are those of you who totally skip the bathing routine altogether. I stand next to you and I can see a pillow mark on your dirty face and yet I STILL have to inhale the scent of yesterday's drool on you. What did I do to deserve this kind of fuckery? Why would anyone in the right mind skip bathing in the first place? The government has spent millions of dollars converting shit water into drinkable, bathing worthy water and you decided to be a real asshole by smelling like shit and not utilize the breakthrough technology? Well shame on you. They should reverse osmosis you instead and maybe, just maybe, after it all we would get a cleaner, fresher version of yourself.

It is a pandemic. Foreign workers doing hard labour, I forgive them. They have been in the sun for far too long and the smell that comes with it is with reasoning. You, in that executive wear, sitting in an air conditioned office the entire day, and you smell like the insides of Kim Kardashian's pussy, what's up with that? And it's only 8 am in the morning. You have yet to reach work! This is beyond me! How do you get laid with that smell? What kind of animals are you attracting with that beastly scent?

I am reminding you again, 47 different brands and scents. You can play Pick The Deodorant game for all I care. But the next time you walk down the aisle, you HAVE to pick one of it and remember to wear it ever morning AFTER you shower. I can't stress personal hygiene enough. If I am a politician, I will, oh hell if I am a politician, I will charge you with treason and have you deported. And we will see which country will accept an executive who has never gotten laid nor is productive at work and has a scent similar to a dead rat. China probably. And they eat rats there. Hah!

Warmest Regards

Monday, September 24, 2012

Cold Dinner

Our lives are heavily dictated by social media and the fact of the matter is, it will only worsen as we progress on in our lives. Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, Path, Tumblr, YouTube, Skype and what have you. Every single aspect of our lives is glorified and technologically enriched by social media, one way or another. Relationships, events, food, birthdays and anniversaries, music, entertainment; there is something, for anything.

Many complain about the death of the human touch and the decline of EQ among the younger generation but one thing is for sure; social media is here to stay and damn is it addictive! I personally try to strike a balance but the appeal of social media is not, or shall I say, never, be lost on me. Star and Melanie however are obsessed with it. They have everything; Facebook, Twitter, Skype, MSN, Instagram etc. They each have their own favorite social media; Star Instagram and Melanie Twitter.

Every single one of us have our very own obsession. It's crazy, irrational and it consumes us. But when your obsession is social media, things get messy. Things like dinner. Earlier on, I had dinner with Star and Melanie and only today have i felt the imposing nature of social media. Here was what happened (and could potentially happen again if Star and Melanie's iPhones are not flushed won the toilet anytime soon):

Star: Guys, when the food arrive later, please don't eat it first? I want to take a picture and put it on Insta.
Harry: What is that?
S: Instagram.
H: But I'm hungry Star.
S: It won't take a minute!
H: But you will retake the picture twenty times. That's twenty minutes.
Melanie: Harry where are we?
S: Can't you just wait for awhile Harry?
H: Whose question do I answer first?
M: Mine. I'm already on Twitter.
H: What has the restaurant name got to do with Twitter?
M: Why are you answering my question with a question? I want to check in on Twitter.
H: And let everybody know where we are at this point of time?
M: Yes
H: Why?
M: Just because.
H: Aren't you afraid of being stalked and raped in an alley on the way back Mel?
M: At this point of time, I am begging to be raped. WHAT IS THE NAME OF THIS RESTAURANT?!
H: I don't know.
M: You're such a f...forget it! Found it.
(Food Arrives)
S: HANDS OFF THE TABLE! (banging table top)
H: I feel like I'm in a monastery, sharing a table with two cunts, I mean, nuns.
S: Harry can you shift your plate a bit more to the right where there's a bit more light?
H: The shadow of your tits is eclipsing the entire table. Should I carry my food on my head instead?
M: What shall I type on Twitter? "Dinner with Besties" or just "Dinner!!!" Wait, Harry, you don't have a Twitter account do you?
S: No he doesn't and he won't have his balls too if he doesn't stand up for a while for me to take a picture of his food. Harry, stand!
H: Star, my food is getting cold.
S: And so are my nipples. Do you see me complaining?
M: Ohmygod Star you're not wearing a bra?! Haha, that's hilarious, I'm so gonna tweet that.
S: And tell your followers I'm not wearing any underwear either!
H: That' I'm speechless.
S: Harry which is nicest? In Hefe, Valencia or Brannan?
H: I just want to eat my food.
M: Star you heard of this Instagram joke? "Oh you're a model? What's your agency? Instagram?"
S: Haha, too funny! I'm so gonna Facebook status that! get the drift.

2 Birds And A Shadobee

The topic about sex is a regular fixture in our conversations, be it in public or in private. Melanie prides herself for being absolutely adept in the knowledge of anything remotely sexual. And why shouldn't he? I mean, she. So it is to no one's surprise when the topic of pornography was discussed just now during our ritual Sunday brunch.

"I love gay porn", Star said, egg benedict in mouth. "I love it. I once chanced upon a gay porn video involving fisting and from then on I'm hooked. Those men are gorgeous."

I chocked on my cranberry juice. It felt as if one of those gay porn stars fisted me, right in the throat. I told Star that she is disgusting and she kicked my legs from under the table and mouthed, "Fucker." Melanie on the other hand was just staring at one of the boys sitting at a table opposite of ours. There was a long silence. And then Melanie said, "That guy in that blue shirt looks very familiar. I think I've seen him somewhere."

"Oh, such a hottie!" Star exclaimed.

"I think he was in this amateur gay video that I saw on Xtube", Melanie whispered, squinting her eyes for a clearer view.

"He is gay?! Oh my that's hotter! I totally dig man on man action. Show me the video!" Star said, getting all excited. I growled, "You are NOT watching gay porn in here during brunch! Everybody can see!"

"Nobody can Harry. And if they can, then they deserve to watch gay porn for being such a nosey motherfucker", Melanie said, fingers typing away.

The next ten minutes was me eating my chicken avocado sandwich, head down and across the table, Melanie and Star hunched over the phone with headphones on (on my insistence) and Star going, "Oh my. Shit. Yes. Okay that IS him! Oh. My. God. Wow. Wow. NICE! Shit that's a lot!"

"Do you want to see the video Harry?" Melanie teased. I told her that I'm still not down with my sandwich and that, no, I wasn't interested in watching the guy on the opposite table naked and jacking off. "I'll send you the link later!" Melanie guffawed. I mean, don't get me wrong. I'm not trying to be a prude or anything; I never was and never will be. I enjoy porn as much as any regular dude but I guess you have to draw the line when it comes to brunch and gay mobile porn. And these two, they have no line of barrier in reservedness whatsoever.

We were waiting for our bill to be transacted when Star asks, in a rather audible tone (very loudly), "Have you guys seen the 2 girls 1 cup video?" Half of the patrons in the restaurant looked at our table. I mean, fuck me right?

"I have. But I don't think Harry has. Have you Harry?" Melanie asked.

I shook my head.

"Let's all go back to my place and watch it together! It'll be fun!" Melanie chirped. But honestly though, I've never seen this 2 girls 1 cup video. From what people said, it is a video about two girls defecating into a cup and then eating each other's shadobee. I mean the thought of it is disgusting, yes, but I have seen my share of disgusting acts caught on tape, so crazily I said okay.

So here we are now, me, notebook on my lap, trying my level best to be cool and nonchalant about it. I mean, how bad can it be right? Okay it's playing now. Star is fast forwarding to the "nasty part", according to her and I'm...fuck. Weeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee.

Okay I need to gag it all out. Later.

Friday, September 21, 2012

Serial Dater

Unlike Star and myself, Melanie is needy, desperate, weak and lonesome, otherwise popularly now known as a "hopeless romantic". Melanie feels like she needs to validate her newly acquired gender by going on dates very, very often. Every Saturday night, she will be wearing the new dress she bought during one of her breaks with full on makeup, hair, shoes, the whole nine yards. And then by Sunday morning, she will video conference Star and myself on Skype, complaining about how nothing materialized from last night's rendezvous. I've known her for more than three years and she has never failed to go out on a date every Saturday night; that would approximately be 144 guys that she has gone on dates with thus far.

"I didn't know there was a market or even a demographic of men who love trannies." Star said yesterday over coffee. I told Star that if she treasures her life, she should never sprout any of that nonsense in front of Melanie.

Star doesn't date. heck, she doesn't even believe in relationships. "I don't need to date or have a boyfriend to get laid," she would always say. "I just wear my bandage dress, no bra, no panties, and I'm on fire."

"But that's not the whole point of dating and being in a relationship. We have a relationship because we need to be loved, to be taken care of, to have a sense of security", Melanie would reply.

"Eww. Then go and have a relationship with the security guard at your condo!" Star retorted. I, myself, personally don't understand the whole dating process. What? You wear nice clothes, spray some cologne, arrive on time, foot the bill, be the best version of yourself and at the end of the day, you just couldn't connect and nobody returns any phone calls or asks for a second date. And the jacket still needs to be sent for dry-cleaning. Too much of a hassle I'm telling you. And even if you do like that person, enough to ask them for a second date and subsequently officially date, there's the late night phone calls, the jealousy, meeting of his or her friends, your friends, the little tiffs, the big tiffs, more jackets to be sent for dry-cleaning; hassle, hassle, hassle. You can meet 1000 Mr Rights, and six months into it, they become Mr What The Hell.

"But that's the beauty of it. You meet all these new people every now and then, and god willing, you will find the right one", Melanie explains.

"That's 144 wrong men, Mel?" Star asks.

"I should stop hanging around with you two", Melanie says, arms in the air, giving up.

I kept quiet because suddenly I got reflective. It is true, the whole dating thing is lost on me. But I also have not been on many dates. And I also have not had the luck to be on a great date either, so I clearly am not in a position to judge anybody who understands and craves for that tingly feeling that one gets from being on dates. Oh well.

Thursday, September 20, 2012

I Spy With My Queer Eye

The Malaysian Education Ministry has endorsed the following guidelines to help parents identify the symptoms of homosexual tendencies in their kids so it can help them to take corrective measures to combat the problem. They are:


- Have a muscular body and likes to show their body by wearing V-Necks and sleeveless clothes.
- Prefer tight and light colored clothes.
- Attracted to men.
- Like to bring big handbags, similar to those used by women.


- Attracted to women
- Have no affection for men
- Likes to hang out, have meals, and sleep in the company of women
- Besides their female companions, they will distance themselves from other women.

But more than just a guideline meant for children, I think it can also be used to identify gay and lesbian adults considering it is very effective, distinct and confirmative. Therefore, I have used the following guidelines to identify gays and lesbians to the people that I know in my life and the list is shocking. I didn't know that there are many gays and lesbians in my life. They are:

1) My father: He always wears these tight V-Neck Byford singlets at home. He claims that it's comfortable but I think it must be to attract our next door neighbour's husband.

2) Star's Aunt: She is a nun and is always seen hanging around and eating with other nuns, who are women. Wishy washy I tell you.

3) Sean, my brother's best friend: He may be engaged but that Sean goes to the gym often and his body is muscular so...

4) My brother: Whenever he goes to the gym with Sean, he always carries this big Zara tote bag with him so that he can "dump everything in". I told him it's gay to be wearing large tote bags similar to women and he replied, "And you're gay too because you've used it thrice. You're three times gay faggot." My question is, "Why so defensive?"

5) Mandy, Melanie's elder sister: She never had a boyfriend because she claims her job as an accountant doesn't give her any time to date but I think she just keep accounts of the pussy she has fallen in love with.

6) Star: Often, we would sit at a cafe and she would blatantly show her attraction towards women. She would say things like, "God, look at that ass. If I had an ass like that I would wear my underwear inside out every single damn day." I told her that she is a lesbian for saying that and she went, "Huh? Fuck you." And then she threw a sugar cube at my face, showing signs of aggression and masculinity, much like a lesbian...the male one.

7) Chris, my tennis buddy: He always buys these men's health magazines because according to him, those magazines teaches him how to satisfy the girls he meets sexually in bed but I think that's just a lame excuse to ogle at the ripped torsos of bare bodied man, clearly showing his attraction to men.

8) My aunt Sally: She only hangs around my mother and distance herself from other housewives because "They are vicious. They will ask for my recipes and tell me that the food tastes just okay a week after that." I just think my Aunt Sally is a total lezbo.

I do have a loger list of people as you can only imagine. I am totally sickened by this new revelation. I must go and pray now and pray that all the V-Necks in my wardrobe to magically disappear and I be rid of this gay disease, if I everchane it coursing in my blood. Melanie is laughing her tits off, sitting beside me going, "Oh Harry, you're too funny." But I have yet to see the humour in this.

Fifty Shades Of Shadiness

Every girl that I know of is reading, or have, more often than not, read the novel Fifty Shades of Grey. I'm using the term "novel" here loosely because I managed to skim through a few pages of it, courtesy of Star and it's what I call "literary porn".

"It's like Danielle Steele on acid meets Brazzers. And. I. Fucking. Love. It.", Star aptly described. I wouldn't be surprised if Star draws references from the book and puts it in practice into her colourful sex life.

I read somewhere that the writer described herself as a bored housewife with nothing to do to pass her time and that's how the idea of Fifty Shades of grey materialized. Her house must be filthy then. I don't think any housewife can have THAT much of free time what with all the cooking and cleaning and washing and vacuuming and mopping and ironing and wiping and that's just household chores. They still have grocery shopping, sending the kids to school, picking them up from school, and trolling around shopping malls for hours and not buying a single thing.

I look at my mum, who is a full time housewife and she is always, always doing some household chore at any given time of the day. My mum told my aunt Sally on the phone the other day, "I don't even have the time to shit. And when I finally have the time to do any shitting, my hands are busy arranging the toiletries on the shelf. I'm living with pigs Sal."

It seems like being a housewife and a best-selling author is like a natural progression to some. That J. K Rowling was also a housewife wasn't she when she wrote the Potter series? But the part that baffles me the most about the author of Fifty Shades Of Grey trilogy is not the time she has managed to squeeze in to write it but what is going on inside her head when she's writing the book. Are housewives in general really that sexually perverse in the head?

"Oh you have no idea what goes on inside a woman's head Harry", Melanie said over dinner yesterday.

"Oh and you do? You're born a dude Mel." I said, but quickly retracting my body back to my seat and looked away. Melanie stared at me like I just deflated her fake breasts with my steak knife. I told her that dinner would be on me and she said, "But of course, why would a woman, A WOMAN like myself be doing footing the bill for dinner?" I kept quiet. Star texted me that night and told me that whatever I did over dinner, was akin to her swimming with sharks, on a  heavy flow day.

Melanie explained that these dirty thoughts are normal to women and that for all the repression or the lack of an exciting sexual life, this was basically their way of acting to their fantasies. "That's why they sleep with the gardeners" Melanie added. Later that night, she wrote on my Facebook wall: "Hey Mr Sexy Gardener, you are welcomed to take charge and conquer my secret garden anytime. <3"

Star on the other hand is literally addicted to the trilogy. She called me a couple of hours ago, writhing on the phone, "Harry, I want to find my Christian Grey. I want nasty things to be done to me. And I want it to be done to me...NOW!"

Whoever this E. L. James lady this, she is responsible for making millions of girls around the world kept their fantasies alive and supplying them with pages after pages of literary orgasm. And well, you can never fault that can you?


Well hello there. Thank you for choosing A Son Of A Peach as your daily reading material. That shows that you have a sense of humor that borderlines on being perverse and that anything crass and stupid is right up your alley. First of all, let me inform you that I'm not a social commentariat. No, I don't think the world wants or needs another self-righteous prick. I just happen to have quite a fair bit of time and an internet connection. Besides, the world has seen a lot of sadness and wrecks (99% of the time generously exemplified by Lindsay Lohan) and we all need that little dose of laughter every single day.

In my journey to fully entertain and amuse you readers, you will find two of my best friends making a recurring appearance in my writings. Not on my own accord really; they are selfish, self-important individuals who yearns for nothing in life but to bask in the limelight that this blog would hopefully provide. One of them is Star. Before I proceed, I would like to say that that's not her real name. I don't even think "Star" qualifies as a name for a real person.

"But I want a name befitting of a celebrity, or a porn star. And don't you ever reveal to your readers my real name or I'll cut your balls off!"

And judging from her track record with men, that is actually a plausible possibility. Star was born in Singapore but raised in Tampa, Florida her entire life. When her parents got divorced four years ago on her 19th birthday, she followed her Singaporean mum back home and left her American dad to "Suck off tits made of plastic and hopefully die of contamination." Her words, not mine. Having being raised in America all her life also means that she is loud, obnoxious and sleeps around with different men on a daily basis. But she has one of the nicest heart that I have ever come across. I must also add that she is the owner of one of the most beautiful pair of tits. Legendary if I may add. Once, a fellow schoolmate, in his drunken stupor, one night after being ditched by Star (long story), famously slurred, "I...I call them The Fluffies. They're...they're perfect dude."

I told Star the same night over the phone that it was a right decision to dump him. The Fluffies, really?

The other person in my life is Melanie. Well, Melvin, three years ago. Yes, you read that right. Melanie is a transsexual. She works as a hairdresser by day and is a social escort by night. Tall, drop dead gorgeous, in a tranny kinda way and full lips, courtesy of collagen provided by her plastic surgeon. My mum naturally disapproves of the company that I keep over the years, but lately, she is more confused above anything else.

"Did they really cut off his penis Harry? How does it look like down there now?", my mum would repeatedly ask.

I told my mum that I am not keen to take a look at Melanie's private parts but Melanie as we know her, for all her craziness, decided to flashed me and Star one night, some two years ago; high on cocaine or E or whatever recreational drugs she was on that night. "Harry! Tell your mother I have a fully functional vagina! Look!" I will never forget what I saw and thinking of it always bring shivers down my spine. Star told me that she couldn't bring herself to look at her own privates for two weeks after that.

So you can only imagine the craziness that I have to handle; or am trying to handle, day by day. Topped with the craziness that the world has to offer, I need this outlet, or I'll literally lose my mind. So come, let's grin and laugh together at the world. We all owe ourselves that much don't we?